Confession
by Genevievey
Summary: Peter hears a confession that he will never forget.
1. Confession

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I thought my Ballykea muse was exhausted, but lo and behold this popped into my head. I'm not sure if anyone else has used this format before, but I haven't read one; and I think it suits Assumpta's style. I hope you enjoy it._

_Of course, I don't own "Ballykissangel", or these characters. Please read & review!_

**  
Confession**

Peter sighed, massaging his brow. Sometimes, he thought that Brian might have been right; after an hour of confession, he would have welcomed a leather armchair and air-conditioning. But this was his duty, and who was he to complain; he'd signed up for it, taken his vows. He reminded himself of that often lately._  
It was my own choice._  
And most of the time, he enjoyed his vocation. It gave him purpose, and interaction with these colourful people—he had just had a young boy confess to putting salt on his brother's toothbrush. And several confessions of the secrets which the residents of Ballykea had been so desperate to hide from those 'revenue men' a few weeks ago. Yes, mostly it was fulfilling…except for…Well, he tried not to think about that. Tried in vain, but he had to try. It was all he could do, wasn't it?

The door to the confessional clicked open, interrupting his reverie, and Peter struggled to clear his mind as the next (and last, surely) parishioner knelt in the closed-off section. The curate waited for them to speak. Silence. That wasn't unusual though; many parishioners found confession difficult. Heck, Peter himself knew that there were certain things that he would find near impossible to admit to another clergyman.  
"Whenever you're ready…"

The parishioner shuffled, he distinguished the rustle of a skirt, and sensed that she was nearly ready to begin.  
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."  
This was exactly, word-for-word, the standard phrase to be expected, not out of ordinary at all. Peter's eyes shot open not because of the words, but the voice.  
"It's been a hell of a long time since my last confession."  
Just as rich as usual, but now with a hint of trepidation, that voice was unmistakable… Assumpta Fitzgerald.

His mind started up at a million miles an hour; Assumpta, in the church? In the _confessional_? Was she here to make fun of him, of the Church? He couldn't remember offending her recently, but sometimes it was hard to tell with her. Or what if she really had something to confess, something important? Peter imagined she'd have to have practically committed murder before seeking absolution. He wasn't quite sure whether her sudden appearance was a miracle or a nightmare.

She cleared her throat. "Did I say it wrong, or something? As I said, I haven't had to say those words for sixteen years."  
There was humour in her voice, but Peter could tell it was masking something else. Fear? God, he was supposed to be calm and wise, he shouldn't be so thrown by this. The priest attempted composure, and was glad she couldn't see his astounded expression.  
"No, that's right. Uh…Look, Assumpta, you know you don't have to do this. We can just talk like normal—"  
"I came to make a confession to my local priest. I thought the Church was big on professional coolness and indifference."

Peter suppressed a sigh, shifting nervously in his seat. He couldn't relax back against the wall as he usually did; God, how was he going to do this? He doubted his own ability to be 'professional' when hearing the confessions of the woman he…Damn it, he'd always wished Assumpta would open up to him, but like this?

"Alright," he said carefully, "what do you want to tell me?"  
He heard her chuckle wryly. "Well, I know we don't have time to go through all my sins, since confessions only go for a few hours…"  
Peter grinned briefly at her quip, but his nervous curiosity soon took hold once more. He couldn't tell whether he was dying to hear her confession, or dreading it. This was so…intimate. Funny, that a moment of honesty and connection was about to occur with a solid wall between them. But then, that was sort of characteristic of their relationship._  
Focus, Peter._  
"Well, is there anything in particular you want to talk about?"

There was real concern and compassion in his voice, and he heard Assumpta shuffle from the opposite section. Through the small gap, he could make out her hands resting on the ledge, and see her red jumper. Peter tried not to look at her.  
"Yes, there is one particular matter I want to discuss…"  
"Go on."  
"I…" Assumpta paused, letting out a low, sardonic laugh. Then she made an effort to compose herself. Peter couldn't help noticing that her hands were clenched tightly, knuckles white. This must be incredibly difficult for her. He had to put aside any impeding emotions, and be there for her, as a parishioner. And a friend.  
"I've been…wanting what I can't have."  
Peter raised his eyebrows. That was a broad, ambiguous statement—so why was his pulse quickening and his mind leaping to impossible conclusions?  
"We all do that."

She made a sound of wry amusement. "Yes. But, I don't seem to be able to stop myself. I've tried, God I've tried. And just when I've think I've conquered it, it leaps up again, twice as strong as before. I can't sleep because of it."  
Now Peter's own knuckles were white. "Could you…be a little more specific?"  
He heard her breathe out slowly.

"Alright…It's a man. I can't stop thinking about him, and it's…inconvenient. It's more than that, it's unbearable. I know that I shouldn't have these feelings, they're not good for anyone involved, but it's too strong to resist."

It was lucky for the priest that Assumpta had enough to say; Peter would not have been capable of responding at that moment. This was torture, listening to her talk about her love-life, about another man. Leo, probably. A man who had, or had at least had the opportunity to, love her; an opportunity Peter could surely never have.

"I suppose Father Mac would say I'm lusting after him—which I can't deny, of course there's a physical attraction—and he'd call it a sin, whereas I know that it's a perfectly human and actually quite beautiful thing. Or it would be, if there was a possible outlet for it; maybe the fact that it could never work would make pursuing it sinful, because of the misery it could cause. But anyway, it's not purely a matter of 'lust'. God, I hate how the Church thinks everything's so black and white, when really everything's all mixed up together in a confusing mess of feelings and longings, and…"

Peter struggled to find his voice. "Does this man know how you feel?"  
"I'm not sure. There are times when we look at each other and I think he'd have to be blind to miss the fact that I'm dying to kiss him…but we've never talked about it. It's sort of forbidden—well, entirely forbidden—and the only time we come near acknowledging it, we talk in double-meanings. So I can never be sure. It's driving me crazy."

The priest loosened his collar, feeling very warm all of a sudden. He fought back images of being the man that Assumpta would kiss, her hands in his hair…A small but insistent part of his mind was suggesting that she seemed to be talking in double-meanings this very minute. Could that mean…? _God, no, don't even think about it. You're just fooling yourself._

"So," she said, after a moment of silence, and he could see her fidgeting through the little gap, "are you going to absolve me of my sin?"  
It took Peter several moments to find his voice.  
"Well, I…I don't think penance is required for human nature. As you said, it's perfectly natural to long for…companionship."  
"Love."  
"…Yes. But, it seems to me that…this longing is a problem for you, so you need to do something about it."  
"And what would you suggest, Father?"  
"Well I…don't know. It depends on the nature of the man you…love. Do you think he would react positively if you told him of your feelings?"  
"I hope so. And if he didn't feel the same, I know he'd let me down gently—he's a complete gentleman."_  
He'd better be; you deserve nothing less._  
"Well then, perhaps you should just…bite the bullet, and tell him."  
"I just did."

She said it so quickly, as though she was telling him the time, and even before the resulting shockwave of emotion hit Peter she was getting to her feet, and rambling nervously.  
"From my limited knowledge of Church protocol, I understand you're bound to secrecy, and I think my secret's safe with you. So, thanks Father, and erm, Amen."

Peter hardly heard the confessional door click shut behind her. The clatter of her retreating footsteps, combined with what she had just revealed, sent a shiver through him. Had…Had he understood her properly? Surely he'd read something into that which she hadn't intended? But no, she'd been as plain as day.

Assumpta Fitzgerald couldn't stop thinking about him, was dying to kiss him, _loved_ him! It was…incredible. It was a problem, of course…But it had always been a problem. Now it was a problem that they shared. And it was, as she said, oddly beautiful.

Father Peter sat alone in the confessional for a long time. He had a lot to think over. He couldn't possibly go to Fitzgerald's tonight; he had no idea how he could face Assumpta now, without blushing furiously, or kissing her. Kissing Assumpta…  
_For God's sake! To have those kind of thoughts in a church, and you're a priest! _Peter scolded himself.

Whatever action he decided to take, and whenever he found the strength to take it, Peter was sure of one thing: he would remember that confession for the rest of his life.

_Continued in the next chapter...  
_


	2. Over the Bar

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I thought I was going to leave this fic as a oneshot, but then a persuasive reviewer got me thinking about a way to continue. So THIS is the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it._

_It's funny; usually I like to write fanfic to firm up in my head what I think happened between the scenes, etc, so I write one fic for each movie/novel, sort of my definitive image of what happened. But with Peter&Assumpta, I can write (and read) a million different scenarios, and like them all! It's interesting. Anyway, I'm rambling._

_Of course, I don't own "Ballykissangel", or these characters. Please read & review!  
_

**Over the Bar**

Peter didn't go into Fitzgerald's that night, nor all of the next day. He needed time to think. He'd thought this all over before, of course, but in a theoretical sense; if he was going to take action, he needed to be sure.

He relived those few minutes in the confessional again and again, each time more thrilled and confused than the last. Assumpta had chosen a subtle way to reveal her feelings…But Peter realized that she had made it easy for herself, and now difficult for him. If he decided to act on this, he wouldn't have the comfort of a nice solid wall to cool the intensity. How could he ever tell her…?

* * *

It was time to close up, and Assumpta had dimmed the lights in her bar, leaving just a few lamps glowing. This made it more difficult to see as she bent down to return glasses to their cupboards, but darkness suited her for the moment. She hadn't seen Peter (except in the distance) since she had made her confession, and it seemed that his way of 'letting down gently' was to keep his distance._  
But what did you expect? He's a priest, first and foremost._  
Now Assumpta almost regretted choosing to tell him in the confessional; it meant that Peter could never speak of it again, unless he wanted to. That had seemed like a genius idea at the time, but now the publican regretted letting him off so easily.

She heard the door click open, and this ignited her already edgy mood.  
"We're closed! Can you not read the time?"  
"I know, but I thought you were used to carrying the clergy."  
Assumpta nearly dropped the glass she held. That was Peter's voice. She forced on a calm expression, and stood up from behind the bar with as much grace as she could muster.

"Well, what do you want?"  
Peter's eyes flashed for a moment, but then his unnervingly casual smile returned.  
"I was hoping you might have an application form for me to fill out."  
"A form?"  
"Yes. I understand you're looking for help with this place."

Assumpta placed her hands firmly on the cool wood of the bar, feeling wary. What was he up to? And could he tell that the way he was looking at her made her pulse quicken? Alright, two could play at this game. She mustn't betray any sign of being affected.  
"You thinking of moonlighting, Father? I know the Church has fallen on hard times, but has it really come to this?"  
The publican strode across to the main desk, and rummaged about for a form, deliberately avoiding his gaze (although she could still feel his eyes on her).

"Well, see," Peter sighed, accepting the form, and going to lean against the bar, "I'm afraid I can't work two jobs at once, so I've had to choose. And I just don't think I can be a priest anymore."  
"That so?" Assumpta had never had so much trouble speaking two words before, and was disappointed at how breathless she sounded.  
"Yes." Peter had his head down, apparently focusing on filling out his name and address.

"Because…Well, it's because of a woman. Of course, I normally wouldn't tell anyone this, but, well, bartenders have always been good listeners to love-struck blokes, so I figure my secret's safe with you."  
Assumpta's eyes flashed at his allusion, and she nodded, busying herself in the polishing of an already-spotless glass. Damn this man, he was torturing her!

They stood so separate, apparently engaged in everyday chores, if anyone had looked through the window of Fitzgerald's they would never guess that the air was electric with tension.

Peter was filling out the 'Previous Experience' section now.  
"Of course you might say that a Catholic priest shouldn't be falling in love with a woman, and that's a very common view. But priests are men too, and…well, you probably know yourself what I mean when I say that some feelings are too strong to resist."  
Assumpta leaned against a cupboard, in the hope that her knees might stop shaking. "Yeah, I know what you mean."  
"And this woman," he continued, smiling down at the form, "she's just incredible. I mean, she's gorgeous, and her voice…But it's more than that. I don't feel as guilty as I probably should for…'lusting' after her, because the way I feel about this woman is…I don't know, pure. I don't _just_ want to kiss her, I want to be part of her life and make her smile every day (that sounds so corny, but its how I feel), and…That can't be wrong, now can it?"  
"I'd say not."

Assumpta just couldn't meet his gaze now, though she was dying to know whether he was looking at her or the form. She was glad of the large wooden bar between them. Her mind was reeling, but unless she'd somehow inhaled a large amount of alcohol, Peter seemed to be saying that…Could he really…?  
She wasn't sure whether she was dying to kiss him senseless, or slap him. He deserved it, putting her through this. But then, she'd done the same to him just yesterday…

"There, finished," Peter sighed, dropping his pen and glancing once more over the application form. He held it out to her, and as she took it from him she was forced to meet his eyes. His gaze was so full of longing, it took her breath away.  
"I hope you'll consider me," was all he said, and then he turned and strode out of the pub, leaving Assumpta leaning against the bar; speechless, breathless, and on fire. It took her a moment to act.

"Peter!" she called, just as he was about to close the door behind himself, "Come back here!"  
It was an order, and the man obeyed, carefully controlling his expression as he came to lean against the bar. "In that case, would you get me a drink? Something very strong."  
Assumpta didn't reply, just walked out around the bar, and came to stand opposite him. She was pleased to see nervousness in his eyes; it made her feel better about the way her own stomach was fluttering.  
"I…I don't know whether to bar you, or kiss you."  
Peter knew the answer. He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and cupped her cheek in one hand. That was all the encouragement Assumpta needed; she closed the distance between them.

She had imagined what it would be like to kiss Peter more times than she could count, but none of her daydreams were quite like this. She couldn't have imagined the warmth of his mouth under hers, the way his fingers would trace her neck, sending shivers through her…

They drew apart, breathless, and he gazed down at her with such adoration that she felt in danger of spontaneous combustion. Assumpta found her voice at last.  
"Well…erm, the job's yours."  
"Thank God; I've never had such a terrifying interview."  
The publican grinned, but it quickly faded. "I think you will, when you talk to Father Mac about this."  
Peter nodded soberly, running a hand through her hair. "Yes, it's going to be difficult, but I don't care. This is worth it."

Assumpta's eyes were surprisingly soft. "Thank you."  
"For what?"  
"For giving up…such a huge part of your life."  
The priest (though he wasn't wearing his collar, she noticed for the first time) half chuckled, "It's not charity, Assumpta. It's my own choice; I want you. _Need_ you."  
She blushed and couldn't help but smile, ducking her head to avoid his gaze.  
"And thank _you_," he continued, "for letting me know. Even if that was the most tortuous confession of my career."  
Assumpta grinned, raising an eyebrow. "More tortuous than what you just put me through?"  
"Well," smiled Peter, his eyes falling to her lips, "it had the desired effect."  
She couldn't keep the smile from her face. "I get the feeling this won't be the last time you infuriate me into this state of…whatever this is!"  
"Not if I can help it."  
He kissed her again, and Assumpta slid her arms around his neck (a small part of her brain commenting that a priest should not be able to kiss in such a way as to make her toes curl...It was unfair. And heavenly...)

"I should go," sighed Peter, his expression reflecting the keen sense of disappointment she felt when he removed from their embrace.  
"Of course."  
"I'll talk to Father Mac tomorrow. This isn't going to be easy, but it's got to be easier than another year of silent longing."  
"Too much longer and I might have done something rash," agreed Assumpta.  
"Like actually going to confession?" he teased, kissing her on the forehead and making for the door.  
"Oh, and Assumpta…"  
"Yeah?"  
"The last ten minutes is a blur; did I mention that I love you?"  
She drew a sharp breath, and positively glowed. "I think you did give that impression, yeah."  
"Good. Goodnight."

And then he was gone, leaving Assumpta Fitzgerald standing in the middle of her half-lit bar, with glittering eyes and a racing heart. And renewed hope in her own future. _Their_ own.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Now they're even and resolved, and this fic is complete. :D_


End file.
